Mercy's Starlight
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Draco's thoughts on his final day.


**Mercy's Starlight**

He's not expecting much when he flies out to battle that morning. Well, not much for himself. He knows what has to be done for a true victory to occur, even if he hasn't shared that bit of information with anyone else. It would be too damaging to morale. But he knows.

His plan is simple. Attack Einon's castle. Even the odds, drive the king and his men out. Get Einon a little hot under the collar, a little reckless. He's fairly certain that Bowen's plan will work. It's a good plan, and the men are confident and stubborn and as skilled as a few months of training can make them. But plans have failed before, and he wants to be there if this one does, to provide aid.

The dragon-slayers are a bonus to his own plans. The fang and claw adorned garments give them away, and it's like a gift from the stars. Not just angry knights, but five men dedicated to his death? He's not sure if Einon really wants him out of the way, or if there are other forces at work, and he doesn't care.

He doesn't make it easy for them. He can't, for several reasons. For one thing, there's the rebellion to keep track of, make sure everything goes according to plan. He wouldn't want to die and then have Bowen and his friends overrun. He'd rather plan his own death to occur after Bowen's victory. A footnote, a tragic loss at the end.

He's also spent a long time avoiding death, defeating all comers. Even knowing what must happen, he can't bear to just give in, not to these men who have made such a sport and a reputation out of hunting his kind. And…well, he's fairly sure that the death of one or two of them will ensure that the rest of them have no qualms and no hesitation about killing him. Vengeance and all that. Sometimes hunters play with their prey before extracting life and trophies, and he'd rather they were too angry to think that way. Or too frightened.

But he's forgotten, because things have been going well lately, that his plans never work the way he wants them to. Not his plan for guarding the Celtic clan that was under his watch. Not his plan for restoring the Once Ways by heart-bonding a king. Nor his plan for hiding away from the world. And this plan, his plan for his death, is no exception.

Someone hurts Einon. A deep wound, a heart-wound, a wound that should be fatal and would be without the heart-bond. From the feel, it's a stab or an arrow-shot, deep into the chest, but he's not really concerned about the details. Whatever it was, it sends him plummeting out of the sky with a howl of pain, right into the courtyard at the feet of three dragon-slayers. And that turns out to be the least of his problems.

Einon figures it out. Whatever nearly killed him on the field, his own fall and Einon's wound have enabled the king to put the pieces together. He's lying in the courtyard, wondering which of the three brutes will claim his life when the king rides in like a man possessed and prevents them. And he knows, knows from the sick satisfaction and the twisted, unholy glee in Einon's eyes, that Einon knows the truth. Knows how the bond works, the price and the power granted by it. He shudders at that expression, the feel of Einon's hand on his head, the soft croon of the king's voice. _'I want it alive. Alive and safe. Safe for all eternity...'_

Stars no. He would kill himself right there and then if he could move. He wishes he'd fallen from farther up. A greater impact would have incapacitated Einon, and then it might have been over before the king could interfere. He wishes he'd broken his neck in the fall. Despair nearly makes him sick.

He hopes that he can goad one of the dragon-slayers into killing him. He tries, with snarls and snaps and biting words. But Einon's gold is good, and his reputation is fierce, and his men are everywhere. The dragon-slayers might be brutes, but they aren't that stupid. Aside from the occasional rough prod and the chains they wind around all his limbs, his body and his head and even his tail, they don't touch him.

The restrictions of his movement are such that he would wonder, if he planned on living that long, how Einon planned to feed him and give him water. As it is, he's wondering if starving himself to death is possible. Definitely a longer term plan than he would like, but if needs must…dehydration is less of an issue for him than starvation, but that might be an option too. Dragon-slayers might be professional killers, but he doubts they've studied the care and feeding of dragons to any degree. Only Aislynn might know better, and she will understand his reasoning. Maybe. She did talk him into this in the first place.

But no. Aislynn does understand, and he feels a flicker of hope when she comes to him, when she eliminates the guard on duty and approaches. She does understand, and knows what he has chosen, and what must be done. She is gentle, and she is compassionate, and for a moment he dares to hope for a quick, easy end, with a little dignity to it.

It's unfortunate that Einon isn't stupid. This is the man who coined the phrase 'death is a release, not a punishment', and while he's many things, a fool isn't one of them. Einon is smart enough to figure out how the heart-bond works. And, sadly, smart enough to realize that only one person in castle would have known before he did. The same person who persuaded a dragon to establish that bond in the first place. And, apparently, the same person who hired the dragon-slayers.

He thought his heart was shattered when Einon prevented his death earlier. It's nothing to how he feels when Aislynn's attempt at mercy ends in her death at the hands of her son. He would weep if he could. Howling his pain into the night does nothing, not nearly enough to express the anguish in his soul, the sweeping despair that breaks over him like a tidal wave. Blood betrays blood, and he is bound to a cold-blooded murderer, a monster, and never before has he felt the weight and pain of that as much as he does now. Einon's darkness is poison in his soul, and he only wishes it were true poison, to stop his heart and Einon's before any more evil can be wrought upon the world.

 _'In giving my heart I've taken on every poison stirring in his evil breast. Even the pain of his death must be mine.'_

He said those words to Aislynn, his offering of forgiveness, and they burn him now. He's always been sickened by Einon's 'death is a release' philosophy, but he would embrace it now, if he could. He would beg for death, did he think anyone would grant it. As it is, every groan he heaves into the night is laden with his silent prayer.

 _'Stars in heaven, please, let it end. No matter how it must be done, let it end. Release me to oblivion. Please.'_

And then...Bowen comes. Comes to conquer Einon, comes for him, to rescue him. A gift from Heaven. Chaos erupts around the castle, men running everywhere, panic and violence suffusing the air, and if ever there were a chance to get someone, _anyone_ , to kill him, this is it.

It helps that Einon has gone off to confront Bowen. Bowen is a master with any weapon, and the confrontation is sure to be as difficult for Einon as it was for him, months ago. Perhaps Bowen can't kill Einon, but if he can just incapacitate him for long enough, then it will be over.

No one need ever know that Bowen didn't defeat the king. Better this way. Einon will die, Bowen will be a hero, he'll probably be crowned king as the victor, the Once-Ways will be remembered and restored, and everything will end as he hoped. If he can just get someone to lose their temper and kill him…

Bowen fights well. He can feel it, feel the wounds Einon's taking. Even better, the red glow unsettles the dragon-slayers. They might know what wounds look like, but they know he hasn't been wounded, not by their weapons, and it makes them suspicious, which is perfect. Between that and his snapping and snarling and fireballs one of them has to snap. Their patience, even with Einon's gold, can probably only take so much.

Einon falls. From the top of the north tower, if he was hearing correctly. It's a hundred foot drop, and even though it won't kill him, even the heart-bond won't allow him to recover immediately. Not from that. To say nothing of the way the all over red glow agitates his guards, who think it's some sort of trick, a precursor to some form of attack. It's the perfect opportunity.

Except that he's forgotten about Bowen. Not that the knight came for him. Never that. He will be grateful for that until oblivion takes him. The only comfort in the torment of his last hours. But he forgot that he's never told Bowen exactly what the heart-bond entails, what it means for facing Einon. He forgot that Bowen will know exactly what the red glow of his body means, will know that he suffers, that he is hurt, even if he doesn't know why.

He forgot exactly how tenacious the knight is, in regards to those who gain his loyalty, his trust, and his friendship. A comrade is a brother, and loved like one, where Bowen is concerned. He forgot that this is the man who gave him a name and cooled a blanket to bathe his wounds and brought him water, even when he didn't know what caused the injury. When they were barely more than reluctant allies and companions. This is the man who argued with him one moment, then watched over him for an entire night the next.

Bowen swoops out of the dark, descending from the tower on a rope like a lunatic, and dispatches one of the dragon slayers. But the knight is off balance when he lands, off balance and wide open for the remaining dragon-slayer, and he reacts without thinking, shooting a blast of fire that torches the last hunter where he stands.

And then Bowen is there, and he realizes, heart sinking…

There's no one left. No one left to kill him. Einon's knights are routed by the rebels forcing their way in. The dragon-slayers are dead. Aislynn is dead. There is no one else, no one except…

The irony burns at him, an entirely new torture. He doesn't know whether to laugh or howl or rage at the stars. Only months ago, less than a full turning of the seasons, Bowen would have gladly granted his wish. So might any rebel there in the courtyard. But now…now they know him. And they care enough for him to have stormed a heavily guarded fortress to try and save him. Save him, which is the last thing he wanted.

The knowledge makes him sick at heart, but not as deep as the despair of knowing that as long as he lives, Einon will recover. He will come back. And he will never stop. It's only knowing that truth that allows him to speak the words.

 _'It's you Bowen. It's you that has to do it.'_

He tries reasoning.

 _'Through the heart we share each other's pains and power. But in my half beats the life source. For Einon to die, I must...'_

 _'You will never win until Einon's evil is destroyed. To do that you must destroy me.'_

Bowen is in denial, refuses to hear it. And the knight is stubborn. Once he swore Einon was demonized by the heart, now he refuses to believe the king is sustained by it.

He tries appealing to the knight's honor.

 _'Once you swore your sword and service were mine, to ask what I would of you. I hold you to your vow.'_

Bowen refuses still. There is honor and there is honor, and the vow was made in ignorance. Not like the vow of brotherhood and loyalty that Bowen swore to him the days before battle. Or the bond forged in the stone circle of Avalon, when the hope of the Old Code and the Once-Ways was renewed in them both.

He tries begging, letting Bowen hear the tortured anguish that fills him.

 _'As my friend, strike! Please!'_

But he forgot, forgot that he confessed the truth to Bowen, forgot that the knight knows of the oblivion that awaits him, and his fear of it's darkness. This is Bowen, who asked why he would fear death when all he would lose was misery. The knight who looked him in the face when he confessed _'my sacrifice became my sin'_ and understood the sentiment perfectly.

Bowen knows his nightmares, and loves him too much to condemn him to them. And the knight cannot, or will not, know that Einon has become a nightmare to eclipse any fear of oblivion he has.

He tries threatening.

 _'I will make you.'_

But his movement is curtailed by the chains that he didn't let Bowen release before this argument began. He doesn't have his full range of movement, and even if he did, Bowen's fought with him before. Sparring and mock-battles and one life-or-death match, even if it didn't end the way both of them originally planned. Bowen knows how he fights. He also knows the difference between his attacks when he intends harm, as opposed to when he only wants to look dangerous, without hurting anyone.

It would take a genuine, life-threatening attack for Bowen to raise a blade to him now, and that is the one thing he cannot bring himself to do.

He should have let Bowen finish releasing him. Then he could have done the deed himself. But now, even that is denied him.

 _'Unchain my claw. Let me tear the hated thing from my breast!'_

 _'I will not'_

And then Einon emerges, bloodied but unbroken, healed of the majority of his wounds, alive as he shouldn't be. Doubt flickers in Bowen's shocked gaze.

The king seizes Kara as a hostage. The young woman freezes, as shocked as the rest of them.

Bowen goes on guard, but cannot attack. Not with Kara in harms way.

He sinks his fangs into his claw with a viciousness that would cripple him if he planned on living through the night, ripping into his own flesh. It's his last chance, his last chance to stop Einon, to convince Bowen, and he tears through his own scales with all the desperate agony that fills him.

Einon screams and drops his blade, convulsing around his hand as the pain rips across the heart-bond.

Kara takes the opportunity to break free and dart to safety.

Bowen whips around, looking at Einon, looking at him, unwilling knowledge in his eyes.

 _'You've seen that it is.'_

Bowen knows the truth now, can't deny it any longer.

Einon recovers and lunges up from the ground, hand clenched on a dagger, murder and madness in his eyes.

Bowen whips around to identify the threat, then turns back to him. Their eyes lock.

Eternity compresses into a heartbeat.

 _'You are my friend...'_

He raises his chest as much as he can and bares the scar over his breast, over the half-heart that is the source of both their grief, the mark of mingled damnation and redemption.

 _'As my friend, strike. Please.'_

Einon is running across the courtyard, blade upraised.

Bowen's gaze flickers between the two of them, anguish in his eyes. Then the knight spins and heaves the double-bladed axe in his hands with all his strength.

But not at Einon.

Bowen's aim is true, as always. He feels the axe slam home, cut deep. Deep into his heart. A death blow.

It's oddly painless. From the way Einon gasps and chokes on a scream as he stumbles and falls, he thinks it should hurt. He can feel his lungs suddenly stopped, the way his heart thumps out of rhythm, the blood pooling and choking him. It should be painful. But it isn't.

Perhaps his body is too shocked to feel pain. Or he is already too far gone. He's heard that can happen. Or perhaps it's simply the relief he feels, at finally being free of the burden of the heart-bond. The poison of Einon's existence is finally purged, and he can imagine no greater relief than that.

Or perhaps there is no room for pain in his fading consciousness, as Bowen turns to him. There are tears streaking the knight's battle-worn face, anguish in his eyes. Love and grief and mourning, even knowing that he asked for this, that it was necessary and a mercy.

He never thought he could have this. He flew to his death willingly, but this...oh, this.

To die at the hand of a friend, rather than an enemy who would use his hide as a trophy...for his last sight to be the face of someone who loves him and will mourn and remember him when he is gone...this is a mercy, a gift he never thought to be granted. He would apologize for the pain it causes Bowen if he could speak, but he cannot regret it. If he could have chosen the manner of his passing, he could have imagined no greater solace, no greater kindness, than this.

He tries to convey his gratitude to Bowen with his eyes, letting his gaze show all his tenderness and love and thanks. He does not want Bowen to remember him dying in pain, especially now, when any pain he might have felt is replaced by such warmth.

Darkness sweeps in, and the last thing he feels is a hand, gentle on his jaw. Bowen's hand, a final comfort as he descends into oblivion.

But there is no oblivion. Instead, he feels...something new, and yet familiar. The link of dragon to dragon, lost when Bowen killed the Scarred One and, he thought, forever beyond his reach again.

With the touch of the link comes welcome, and joy, and understanding. Not oblivion, but acceptance. Acceptance into a place and a new existence that he thought Einon's evil had forever denied him.

Einon's evil. But Bowen's mercy. Perhaps his heart put tyranny on the throne, but it also revived a Knight of the Old Code, tempered in the fires of betrayal and the power of Avalon and Arthur's ghost. A true king of the Once-Ways, such as has not existed in an age.

Bowen's honor, his love and his mercy and his strength, are his redemption. His sacrifice has been redeemed from sin to salvation.

He feels the touch of magic, the beginning of his transformation. And he hears Bowen's grieving question.

 _'Without you, where do we turn?'_

He wraps the knight in his newly born starlight, and touches him through the link forged by Bowen's gift of mercy.

 _'To the stars, Bowen. To the stars.'_

He begins his ascendance, his transcendence, but not before he senses Bowen's joy. Joy for him. Bowen, like Gilbert and Kara, knows what his words mean. Knows what this transformation means. He rises, and feels the knight's wonder and happiness, brilliant as starlight in it's own right, rising with him.

He can still feel it, as he rises and whirls into the stars amidst his draconic brethren. He will feel it, he knows, for the rest of Bowen's life, and for the lives of all the knight's children and grandchildren. A bond as deep and unfailing as a heart-bond, and forged of a magic that is far more precious.

He will hear every prayer Bowen directs his way, share the knight's triumphs and his sorrows, watch over him as he rebuilds the kingdom, Kara and Gilbert and the rebels by his side.

He takes his place in the heaven's and directs his attention back to the earth, where Bowen still gazes up at him. His newly formed essence blazes bright, starlight forged in mercy, bathing those he loves forever in it's glow.

 _'Look to the stars, Bowen. To the stars.'_

 ** _Author's Note:_** _Where this came from...I was at work, and it hit me like a comet. No idea why. But I hope it does Draco and Bowen justice._


End file.
